


And The Other Was Me

by Rollingjules



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beaches, Lighthouses, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, MerMay, MerMay 2019, Mystery, Small Towns, merman Keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rollingjules/pseuds/Rollingjules
Summary: Shiro gets a summer job as a live-in lighthouse keeper to support himself between semesters at school. He's looking forward to living in the sleepy coastal town of Marmora, but things don't quite go as he planned. He meets Keith, who's lived in Marmora all his life, but seems to have a number of secrets...





	And The Other Was Me

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done anything for Mermay before, but MAN this idea struck like lightning and hit me hard!!! I hope you guys enjoy it. It's not the lighthearted humorous stuff I usually write, so I really had a great time. <3

The drive into town went smoothly; as much as a hundred-mile trip across the state in a creaking, broken-down jalopy of a flatbed truck could be called ‘smooth.’ It was a miracle he’d even made it off campus. The first twenty miles or so was a white-knuckled test of his mettle as the muffler rattled, the tires squealed along every turn, and the duct-taped rearview mirror nearly fell into his coffee thermos three separate times.

 

Shiro consoled himself with the thought that it would all be worth it: by the end of the summer, he’d have enough of his wages saved up to buy a slightly newer broken-down pickup. One that wasn’t held together with string, hope, and good intentions. He’d be saving a mouthwatering amount of money with his live-in job, with no rent or utilities to worry about he could take care of his daily needs and put the rest into savings. He knew going in it was probably going to be culture shock – going from the bright desert metropolis he grew up in to a tiny coastal stopover wouldn’t exactly be a trip down memory lane, but it would hopefully make up for the lack of excitement with the new scenery. It would be nice to see the ocean while _not_ on deployment.

 

Stopping for gas was a tense moment, but then again so was _every_ time he cut the engine. Who knew what leg of the journey might be his last? Luck was with him and his giant bag of cheesy puffs, however, as the decrepit motor spluttered to life and outlived every single one of Shiro’s expectations.

 

The air became cooler, moister as he neared the coast. That was a blessing in itself, as the air conditioning had stopped working more than six months ago and Shiro was soaked through with sweat. As the clouds thickened overhead and the breeze became less dusty, Shiro found himself really looking forward to the change of pace. _It’ll be nice to have some peace and quiet for a bit_ , he thought with a smile.

 

The letter from his employer had explained that the little town of Marmora wouldn’t be seeing many ocean vessels until a few weeks into the summer, and Shiro intended to use the downtime to get familiar with the town and his responsibilities before they’d be tested. The tone of letter itself was official, but not overly formal: a plainly-worded breakdown of the expectations for him and the duties he’d need to perform over the summer. Shiro had assumed they would email him everything, since he _had_ applied online for the position… Instead, he’d received a thick envelope in the mail with everything he’d need to know, written in an old-fashioned typeset font with occasional splotches that made him wonder if it hadn’t actually been printed up _on_ a typewriter.

 

And in his jacket pocket, an old key in the envelope with the rest of his instructions.

 

 

 

Arriving in Marmora, Shiro could tell it was still the off-season. His employer, the Marmora Lighthouse and Beacon Company, had explained in the letter that most of the fishermen in the region wouldn’t really have much to do until the waters warmed up midway through June, sending the schools of fish they netted for a living closer to their area. Until then, Marmora would remain a quiet seaside village. He passed shuttered boardwalks and shell shops, quiet storefronts and a dingy-looking café. Not a Starbucks or McDonalds in sight… A welcome reprieve from the logjam traffic and booming club music on every corner he grew up with.

 

The skies were misty and a bluish grey, like a blanket of calm over the little village on the coast. Braking at stop signs as he made his way past the panel sided homes and businesses gave him the opportunity to hear the ocean pounding against the rocks just a mile or two from him. He paused at a four-way stop a few blocks from the address he was looking for and was very glad he did – a crimson vintage motorcycle roared across the road ahead of him, completely blowing through the stop. Shiro whipped his head around, half a mind to yell at the rider, but they were gone around the corner before he had his thoughts together. _Typical_ … if the locals didn’t bother to obey basic safety laws, maybe it wouldn’t be so different from living in the city after all.

 

Shiro huffed out a sigh. “People…” He rolled his eyes, craning his neck to look down each road just in case before carefully rolling through the intersection.

 

According to both the directions in the letter and his phone’s GPS, the lighthouse sat a few miles beyond the edge of town on an outcropping looking over the ocean, with the wharf and beaches to one side and craggy cliffs to the other. As he turned off the main road to take the lighthouse accessway Shiro could immediately see the need for a lighthouse in the first place. Or rather, his inability to see through the thick fog coiling around the truck, leaving dewy droplets on his windshield, made it perfectly clear. How much worse would it be out on the open water, with no landmarks to see until it was too late? He moved forward at a crawl, the motorcyclist fresh in his mind as he kept his old truck rolling forward with just the barest amount of pressure on the gas pedal. If Google Maps was to be trusted, he was on track to add twenty minutes to his trip this way, but there was no predicting what else would streak through the fog.

 

As he continued his careful drive he felt the truck shift around him, the path up to the lighthouse gradually angling upward. The incline wasn’t terribly steep, but it made Shiro grateful for his own foresight; he’d definitely need the cinderblocks he kept in his truckbed to keep his beat-up old pickup from rolling downhill. Fortunately, the extra elevation left the area more exposed to the sea breeze, and the mists thinned slightly as he went. _At least I won’t have to worry about walking off the side of the goddamn cliff,_ he noted with relief.

 

 

 

He was surprised to find when he arrived that it was a freestanding lighthouse, without any additional attached quarters or buildings on the ground floor. He was no architect, he didn’t know how unusual that actually _was_ – but he’d been picturing something more like out of a movie, he supposed. Someplace you’d see a wizened sea captain in a long coat with his pipe puffing smoke in a rocking chair on the front porch, maybe an old dog curled up asleep next to him. A girl in a pinafore dress with her braids flapping in the sea breeze, flowers dotting the cliffside, something very historical.

 

He’d certainly pictured things a lot… greener. Shiro stepped out of his truck to survey the grounds, and it was markedly less impressive than he’d thought it would be. There was plenty of scrub and small groundcover plants, the occasional purple thistle poking through the stubborn prickly grass, but it was altogether very dreary if he was being honest. The mist didn’t help at all, but he imagined even on sunnier days it wasn’t the thriving cinematic view he’d built up in his mind. _Well, my bad, I guess. That’ll teach me not to hype up a job before I know what to expect._

 

The lighthouse itself was very old and absolutely _massive_ , that much he could tell by looking. The exterior paint was cracked in places, moss thriving in the grooves between old stones constantly battered by seaspray and moisture. At night it would be downright spooky, a lonesome tower high up on a cliff. It was already getting on in the day as that thought struck him, and the chill was biting the base of his neck under the collar of his thin jacket. He hiked his duffel strap up on his shoulder and fished the key out of the envelope in his pocket. Metal clanked on metal as he stuck it into the lock and turned it with brittle clicks from inside the old mechanisms. With a heaving groan, the heavy metal door opened and he stepped inside.

 

The first thing he needed to do was get familiar with the layout of the building itself. His employer had thought to leave the interior light on for him, which he appreciated. It felt just as imposing on the inside, more spacious than any he’d come across in the research he did before applying for the job. But with the living quarters on the inside as well, he supposed it was more like a tower with a giant glowing beacon at the top than a traditional lighthouse. Glancing upwards, following the grated steel spiral staircase ascending five stories above him, Shiro took a moment to take it all in. _I’ll definitely be getting my exercise_ , he thought with a snort.

 

He was a bit taken aback by the general feeling of clutter inside, though. There were boxes and books and odd bundles laid out in the entryway, some set on the bottom steps of the staircase. According to his letter it hadn’t been a functioning lighthouse in about a decade, but it seemed that nobody had made the effort to move out, or clean up, since. Shiro’s immediate assessment was _fire hazard_. He would have to make time to sort through it all later to see what could be donated and what could be tossed. For now, though, he set his duffel bag down on the stairs and did a quick bit of reorganizing for safety’s sake before starting the trip up to the higher floors.

 

 _At least it’s homey?_ Trying to stay positive, Shiro was glad for the fact that it didn’t look like something out of a horror movie, and more like a place that needed some care.

 

As he climbed, he was again surprised; this time by the number of rooms. The lighthouse appeared to be built in concentric cylinders, with the staircase to the top creating the center and rooms formed out of the rings around it on a landing at each floor. It certainly felt intended for more than just one single lighthouse keeper. He passed over the doorways on the second floor and continued his climb, remembering the letter he’d received. The galley and his room were still above him. He could do more exploring later – for the time being, he needed to stick with the essentials.

 

 

 

It took him a week or so to get settled in between checking the plumbing, checking the wiring (making a few frantic calls to Hunk for help), and scrubbing all the common areas down to get rid of years of caked-on dust and grime. Between figuring out the lay of the land, getting groceries, finding a better rain jacket, and all his clean-up he’d gained a real sense of accomplishment from all that he’d done, and the fourth floor _almost_ looked like it hadn’t been abandoned for more than ten years. Apart from the ancient fixtures and old hardware, it was a nice setup. Quaint, but Shiro liked the extra atmosphere. 

 

The lighthouse keeper’s quarters – _his_ quarters – was a different problem entirely, though; he hadn’t tackled any of the third floor at all yet, and as a temporary measure had been sleeping on his mattress pad in the pantry. Shiro took his time sifting through the forgotten belongings of the old lighthouse keeper. It seemed wrong somehow, knowing he was gone, to just toss everything out without at least a quick look through. Stacks of books carefully organized by some system completely unknown to him, scrawled notes and drawings poking out from between dog-eared pages. The whole place felt locked in time, like the world outside had moved on without consideration for whatever private treasures might lie under the thick layer of dust.

 

It was too much to go through quickly, what seemed like a lifetime’s worth of tchotchkes and little bits and bobs that held no significance to Shiro without their owner to interpret them. Even so, it didn’t take him long to discover that his initial system of ‘keep, donate, trash’ wasn’t going to be that simple. Not when it felt like a violation to just throw out someone’s careful collection of drawings, pressed flowers, bits of smooth frosted sea glass and coral tied and glued to make sculptures. The clutter made the lighthouse less lonely, somehow – like Shiro was just one of many lighthouse keepers, just biding his time until his compatriots returned. On the quiet days no ships were scheduled to pass through, it made passing the time less dour. He thought back to how much like a home the lighthouse had felt when he first arrived, and at this point he’d barely recognize the place without at least a little of it. He’d keep some things, for sure, some of it was quite nice. Fancy old books, hand-sketched art, and some of the old nautical maps would look beautiful framed on the wall. But damn him, did the old keeper sure know how to accumulate _junk_ , too.

 

Some rooms seemed barely lived in, untouched except for the stuffy feeling of rooms that are seeing fresh air for the first time in years. Others were piled high with books, star charts, and navigation tools – even the keeper’s sleeping quarters itself was only recognizable once Shiro spotted the corner of a frame and a bedpost from under a steep pile of boxes, trunks, and stacks of paper. Though, who knows how much of what he’s seeing was the work of the keeper himself and how much was anyone who may have come after, rifling through or picking out important items to send off to forgetful employees.

 

At the rate he was going, he was going to be less of a lighthouse keeper and more of a _crypt_ keeper… Some sacrifices would just have to be made. After unfolding a few cardboard boxes from the grocery store to get him started, Shiro began by the bedroom door and resolved to work his way in.

 

Old clothes were the first things to go. Musty, but most were still usable. They went straight to the donate pile. There were toolboxes and tackle sets, some salvageable and some so encrusted with salt and gunk he wasn’t sure how they had _ever_ opened. The fishing stuff he might keep, use it to occupy his free time, but he had no use for antique hammers and rusty wrenches. Or the seemingly endless piles of old almanacs and calendars, notes scrawled in the margins in a weird shorthand. Those could _definitely_ go to the dump. A few hours into his battle with grandpa’s attic, as he’d come to think of it, Shiro was starting to see some real progress. It took him several trips up and down, but he had most of the bed of his truck loaded up with stuff. As he surveyed his work so far, Shiro felt a unique sense of pride and clear-headedness he only ever found with settling in to a long, tedious task and whittling away at it. At least he wouldn’t run out of things to do before the ships started to pass through later into the summer.

 

An angry metal banging echoed up from the base of the lighthouse and jolted Shiro out of his thoughts. Like being in a giant steel drum getting pounded on from the other side, bouncing off the steel stairs and stone walls and rattling his brain around between his ears. Extremely irritated by the clatter and the sudden intrusion, Shiro picked his way through the decade-old detritus to make his way to the window. The latch protested when he unlocked it, and the windowframe put up a valiant effort to resist him after so many years of being sealed shut, but with a gruesome wrenching of the old wood and a blast of cool sea air, Shiro yanked the frame upwards and muscled it open.

 

“Will you quit it!” He called, angling his face down to be heard over the wind and the waves. “I’m coming down!”

 

If this was going to be a regular occurrence, maybe it wasn’t such a mystery why the previous occupant left in such a hurry.

 

Grumbling to himself the whole way, Shiro pulled his running jacket off the hook on the landing and headed down the two flights to the ground floor. As if to remind him of their presence, his visitor still rapped on the door intermittently. Now that Shiro had acknowledged it, it almost sounded angrier. As Shiro reached the bottom step a fist pounded on the door once again, reaching the threshold of Shiro’s frayed patience.

 

“Cut it out!” he barked as he threw the door open, ready to give whatever jackass turned up just to be a nuisance a real earful.

 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t what he found.

 

It was a young man about his age, maybe a little younger. He was lean, small-looking in the puffy synthetic windbreaker zipped up to his chin. He looked pale in the overcast grey light, jaw set and wind whipping his dark hair around his face. It seemed to Shiro like he could have blown in on the wind of his own anger, his eyes practically flashing with some sort of quiet rage.

 

“What are you doing here?” the boy demanded, as if Shiro was the trespasser and not the other way around.

 

“I – what – I work here!” So surprised, Shiro almost forgot he was annoyed in the first place. “I’m the new lighthouse keeper, who’re you?”

 

“You can’t!” His prickly visitor said shortly, providing no explanation. His shoulders were hiked up to his ears, fists balled up tightly.

 

“What do you mean, ‘I can’t?’ Take it up with the company if you don’t like it.”

 

“This is – it’s not your lighthouse.” As the man stood there, so obviously riled, Shiro got the feeling that he was being sized up. His piercing gaze seemed to be appraising all of him, and Shiro had the distinct impression that he did _not_ like what he saw.

 

“Well, it is now.” It had been a long day, and Shiro had no energy for arguments with the locals. “I know I’m new around here but if you just came by to give me a hard time I’ve got better things to do, thanks.” Gripping the door handle tightly, Shiro moved to close it in the boy’s face.

 

“Wait!” The stranger’s anger vanished completely, replaced by frantic worry. “Please, don’t shut the door. I’m sorry, I’m being an asshole.”

 

Shiro couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “Well you’re not doing yourself any favors, that’s for sure. What do you want, anyway?”

 

The dark-haired man took a deep breath like he was building up his courage, as if he hadn’t nearly broken Shiro’s door down in fury just a minute prior.

 

“I saw the boxes piled up in your truck. You can’t throw those things away,” he insisted. His stern conviction about something so harmless was very unexpected.

 

“What do you care?” Shiro snapped, not about to be bullied into living with all of somebody else’s junk. It’s true that some of it seemed meaningful, but who cares about a few waterlogged books and rusted tools? It’s not like he was tossing out a whole damned maritime museum or something.

 

Abruptly the boy seemed to avoid looking Shiro in the eye. “You can’t throw it out. It’s my dad’s stuff. So you just can’t get rid of it, alright?” His voice cracked over his words, sounding frustrated. His shoulders had slumped somewhere along the way, and he still held that fiery energy about him but he looked resigned to losing this argument. Almost like he’d been through it before.

 

Shiro looked him over dubiously. “Nobody’s lived here in years, buddy. All the junk that’s piled up in here has been here for more than–”

 

“–A decade. I know,” his visitor finished, irritably.

 

“Well he’s had plenty of time to come back for it, obviously what’s left isn’t that important to him. If he hasn’t missed any of it yet then something tells me he’ll be fine without it.” _Invest in a storage unit or something,_ he thought, _Jesus_.

 

He hadn’t been expecting a look of deep hurt to pass over the young man’s face, but it was gone almost as soon as Shiro noticed it. The silence stretched on for a few moments as he waited, somewhat impatiently, for an excuse.

 

“He’s dead.”

 

Oh.

 

_Well, shit._

Shiro was too wrung out to deal with this, he wasn’t getting paid for this. But you don’t drop a bomb like that on somebody and then hash it out on the goddamn front step, so with a deep sigh Shiro held the door open for him. “I guess you better come in, then.”

 

The boy’s hesitation was written all over his face, and his whole body practically screamed unease. He seemed to think it over for a moment or two before slowly stepping over the threshold. Realizing he was being watched, his eyes snapped up to glower defiantly, as if daring Shiro to say something. Shiro wasn’t interested in arguing, _again_. He closed the door behind them and led the way.

 

 

 

The only room that was suitable for company at this point – though calling this guy _company_ was being very generous – was the galley. Shiro had moved the tables and chairs around to suit his tastes and gotten the kitchen in full working order, which made it the most livable by far out of the rooms he’d investigated up to now. Fortunately, his instant ramen hoard and microwave TV dinners were safely tucked away in cabinets and the ancient fridge, hidden from judgment. Shiro motioned for the man to sit at the cracked linoleum table and headed over to the counter to get the electric kettle going.

 

“Do you drink tea?”

 

“I guess.”

 

He didn’t appreciate the sullen answer. Not feeling particularly charitable, but working on the muscle memory of his grandmother’s hospitality, he poured water for two from the sink and grabbed two tea bags at random out of the cookie jar he was using as a container. _So much for my “quiet job_ ,” he thought glumly.

 

As the water heated up, Shiro pulled out his little plastic tub of sugar and inspected the tea bags. His nice blueberry lemon – definitely not, that one was his for sure – and a peppermint. That would do fine.

 

“It’s peppermint, do you take it with milk?” Shiro asked, hoping to steer the conversation into less fraught territory to get them started.

 

“Never tried it,” his guest replied hoarsely.

 

“First time for everything, I guess,” Shiro pulled the milk out of the fridge and set it on the table for him along with the sugar and two spoons. As they waited for the water to heat, Shiro leaned back against the old countertops and crossed his arms loosely.

 

When his guest didn’t say anything, Shiro tried again. “I’m Shiro,” he said with a quick little wave. “I’ll be here until the end of August. Just a couple months, nothing too painful. You might see me around I guess, but I’ll be keeping to myself mostly once fish season starts up.”

 

That got a snort out of the dark-haired man. “ _Fish season_ , huh? That’s one way to put it.”

 

The kettle chimed, and Shiro poured hot water into two mugs pulled from the cabinet over the sink. After bringing those over to the table as well, he slid over the peppermint tea packet and tore his own open to set it down into his cup.

 

Accepting the tea like a peace offering, the man spoke. “I’m Keith. I live here. My dad was the last lighthouse keeper back in the 2000s.”

 

Shiro had a lot of questions, not the least of which were why all his dad’s junk was still lying around a decade later and why there hadn’t been anyone running the lighthouse since, but he figured he should start with tact.

 

“Did you grow up in Marmora?”

 

Clearly it wasn’t the question Keith was expecting. He took a sip of his tea, wrinkled his nose, then added milk and sugar before he answered.

 

“Yeah. Still do. Um, live here, I mean. Nowhere else to go after he died.”

 

While he offered more information that Shiro was assuming he’d get from him, Keith also looked uncomfortable. Shiro knew the type. And seeing him better in the light of the galley, Keith’s eyes were red and puffy like he’d been crying... Maybe he had been. Shiro was no stranger to grief, or to mourning the loss of an important part of his life. He balled up his prosthetic fist, mulling things over. It was understandable how Shiro showing up out of nowhere might bring everything back. Keith could probably use some extra gentleness right about now, god knows Shiro would have appreciated not having to talk about himself constantly after his accident.

 

“I haven’t done much moving around either. This is the furthest from home I’ve been in a long time, actually. It’s… pretty weird to be out of the desert. I was born in Plaht City a couple hours from here, but Garrison is where I really grew up.”

 

Keith frowned slightly, curious but wary. “How’d you end up getting a lighthouse job, then?”

 

Shiro stirred his tea. “Well, at first I just really wanted a change of pace, you know? I wasn’t looking to be a lighthouse keeper necessarily, but I looked at the requirements in the job posting and I met most of them, and it’s housing-included too. Might as well use some of my skills, not getting a whole lot of use out of them anymore. Plus it’s just for the summer, which is what I needed. Fall semester starts up about a week or so after I finish up here. So… timing, qualifications, no extra lease agreement to worry about, and I thought it might be nice to see the ocean for a while. Even if I won’t actually be _in_ the ocean all that much, I guess.”

 

Nodding along, Keith glanced around the room as he listened. His expression changed when he saw something over Shiro’s shoulder, so Shiro turned to look.

 

“Oh, yeah. I saw the old maps, and some of the drawings lying around. It seemed like a waste to just throw them away, I thought they’d be pretty if I hung them up. Good thing the thrift store had plenty of frames, haha.”

 

For a moment Keith didn’t meet his eyes, looking guiltily into his mug. “Hey… I’m sorry I was a jackass before. I saw the stuff in your truck and I just… freaked out. It’s been hard to come back here after he died, so all this time it’s all kind of been, sitting here? I know I should do something with it, at least see what’s here, but… It’s hard.”

 

Shiro’s expression softened from his laugh to a gentle smile. “Tell you what. It’s a lot to go through, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to having to get it done all by myself. You think it would be easier if you had somebody to help you? I’ll be here anyway.”

 

Keith stiffened. “…You’re busy, you don’t have to go through everything.”

 

“I know, but a lot of it is in my room. Not to give away my secret but I can’t sleep in the pantry forever, man,” he joked. “How about when you have time, we sort through things together? You get first say on everything that I wouldn’t be keeping here. The boxes in the truck are mostly old tools and clothes, but you can go through them too if you like.”

 

Keith was quiet, watching him, like he was expecting Shiro to throw in some demand or extra condition. It gave Shiro the feeling he wasn’t used to letting his guard down.

 

“…Alright. I’m free most days, I have a job at the hardware store and I work nights at the docks once the ships come in, but I can come by sometimes if you want. Just… don’t toss anything without me, okay?”

 

“You got it. I might move things around a little, but I won’t throw anything out.” Shiro nodded, emphasizing his commitment to their agreement.

 

 

Keith was silent for a while after that, a faraway look in his eye with his tea gone lukewarm in his hands. “I should get going,” he said abruptly as he sat up, “There’s gonna be a storm soon.”

 

Shiro hadn’t seen anything about storms when he checked the weather – just wind and cloudcover all day – but Keith’s tone left no room for questions. Shiro walked him down to the front door and held it open for him to leave. Halfway down the front steps though, Keith paused and turned to face him.

 

“Oh yeah, the truck’s fine. None of that stuff is super important, it can go.”

 

“Cool, I’ll be taking it to the thrift store in a bit. If you see anything there that makes you change your mind, let me know and I’ll get in touch with them about buying it back. I doubt it’ll be worth much, but, you know. Just in case.”

 

“…Thanks.”

 

Keith nodded curtly and resumed his trip down the gravelly driveway. Shiro stood in the doorway and watched him for a bit through the mists as he walked back down the path, to the same dirt access road he must’ve come in on. A few moments after Keith disappeared into the fog, the roar of a motorcycle engine cut through the mists like sudden gunfire.

 

 

 

Later, Shiro set about familiarizing himself with some of the old lighthouse equipment. It reminded him of an antique boat’s weather station, but it seemed easy enough for a guy with his background to get the hang of. He figured his military experience was part of why they hired him, after all, a lot of transferable skills. He’d spent some time as a radar technician before he was discharged, and even afterward he’d transferred his online meteorology credits to a degree program at the Garrison Institute of Technology. He wouldn’t be getting very far in the piloting program anymore, not with his injuries, so he’d shifted to geoscience and a little bit of physics. He had no interest in showing off forecasts on the _Weather Channel_ , but the equipment he could definitely handle.

 

He flipped through a couple of the manuals on the shelf next to the row of consoles and tweaked some dials and settings, getting a feel for the setup until he was satisfied he’d be able to use it with confidence. With that done, he was able to do what he’d actually come up for in the first place. Checking the weather, Shiro confirmed with the radar, the forecasts, and even a look outside that there were no rainstorms for miles. The sea, though, that would remain rough and choppy for hours. Thinking back on his earlier encounter, he realized absently that Keith’s hair had been dripping wet when he arrived.

**Author's Note:**

> HMMMMM... KEITH'S CLOSELY-GUARDED SECRET... HE TAKES AFTERNOON SHOWERS. XD
> 
> For real though thank you for reading! I have a bunch more planned out, Not sure how that'll translate length-wise but I'm excited to keep this going! Thank you for your time and your comments and kudos, they really do make my day. ;u;


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